A Comedy Of Errors
by grayorca
Summary: Fan-written bloopers for SkyHighDisco's "Pennywise and the Losers Club". Highly recommended to read those before these!
1. Take One

_fan-written bloopers for SkyHighDisco's "Pennywise and the Losers Club"_

 _Background OST: "Hangin' Tough" by NKOtB (instrumental)_  
 _\- or -_  
 _"Alexander's Ragtime Band"_

 _Written with cast names in mind._

 _Chronological order. Real-life chapters excluded because, reality._

* * *

"Annd... action!"

" _Fore_!"

Startled, Jack's grip on the 'club' slips.

Bill actually yelps and dives aside (much to the dismay of the makeup effects staff), out of the stick's careening flight path.

Now the target of their mutually aggravated looks (never minding the offscreen crew's callous laughter), Finn steps into frame and holds his hands up, a frantic _I-come-in-peace_ gesture, turning to address the camera as though it were obvious.

"What? _What_? Aren't you supposed to yell that as you take a swing?"

* * *

Boombox situated, Jeremy inserts a tape and presses 'play'.

Turned up to 11, AC/DC blares: "IF YOU WANT BLOOD, YOU'VE GOT IT!"

Bombarded by the blasting rock noise, the cast simultaneously shriek and cover their ears.

"Cut!" Andy calls from offscreen. "Cut it out!"

Jeremy fumbles for the boombox's 'stop' button, even as the camera crew begin to snicker.

"The hell, who switched the tapes?!"

* * *

"Where are those guys? I'll..." Finn trails off to awkward silence, slipping up as he forgets his line. Looking around at his fellow castmembers' waiting expressions, he fumbles to get back into character. "Wait. I got it. Ahem. Okay. _Where_ are those guys? I'll start...' Ah, crap. What was it again?" From offscreen, a grip stage-whispers the forgotten line aloud. Much to Finn's now-rambling despondence. "Carrots? Really? Oh, don't let me get 'carrotted' away, then."

Jackson facepalms, giggling helplessly, even as the others begin to crack up. Jack reaches over to playfully shove Finn out of frame, as if he were an embarassment. "The hell are you even saying, dude?"

Letting himself topple over, Finn falls on flat his back, arms outstretched theatrically, "I don't know anymore! The insanity, it's too much!"

* * *

Walking on lake ice in treadless clown shoes while covered in roughly 50 additional pounds of makeup and uncomfortable costume, oversized contact lenses jammed into your eyeballs rendering you half-blind.

Struggling to keep his balance, Bill has had better ideas than agreeing to this gig.

"Deleted scene. Deleted scene. Please, be a dele _ee_ ted scene."

BTS CUECARD:

Wish granted, big guy.

* * *

With the set secure, Andy takes his place behind the camera, script in hand. "All right, guys, ready?"

Silence answers him.

"Guys?"

He looks up.

Two weeks worth of work, averaging maybe a combined three hours of sleep per night between them, his stars - Bill and Jaeden, both in costume, have already dozed off on the couch before _Poltergeist_ has started.

"What?" Andy glares at the nearest assistant cameraman, holding the clapperboard ready, who shrugs helplessly. "I looked away for a second. They _just_ sat down."

* * *

"Medic!"

 _Crash._

Neibolt's front door gives a lurch, but does not fly open as scripted.

"Ow! Medic, _set_ medic! For reals-ies!"

* * *

In the interests of methodology, Bill gives the Rubik's cube a fair try.

'Fair try' being all of 30 seconds before it goes rolling across the floor. "Oookay, forget that. Can we have the already-solved one, please?"

* * *

"Someone have a camera? This is so - "

Wyatt's voice pipes up from off camera: " _Not_ going on Tumblr, Finn. Don't even think about it."

"Aww..."

"Cut!"

* * *

"Well, Doctor K, looks like you saved the day again - hey! No! Personal space! Personal space is being invaded!"

Finn flubs his line, suddenly caught in a beartrap of a hug, face pressed uncomfortably close to his grimy costar's.

Much to the amusement of cast and crew all around them.

"Aww, thanks, pal. Couldn't'a done it without ya."

Action scenes - by definition - are just no fun to shoot.

And even less fun to act in.

But somehow, Jack manages.

* * *

Watching Sophia demonstrate with the marble and stryofoam cup, preparing for their close up, Bill has a strange look on his painted-up face. Half amused, half dismayed, like he doesn't know which emotion to get behind.

The innocently-dubbed Behind-The-Scenes cameraman has the bad judgement to ask: "What'cha thinking, Bill?"

"I'm thinking... Man, life was boring before the Internet."

* * *

"Thanks, Cheetah."

Breaking eye contact, Bill raises an eyebrow (as best he can) at a disturbance somewhere to the left of frame. Emotional scenes are tough enough without some nobody laughing off-stage. "You! Don't think I don't see you laughing over there!"

Even as one hapless set person is shamed into silence, Wyatt and the rest of the camera crew, of course, crack up.

* * *

"And?"

"Is he alive?"

"Why didn't he call?"

"Is he hospitalized?"

"Is he in the coffin already?"

"Which is better, s'moresorhotcocoa?"

Finn fires off one last unscripted question before Andy can call "cut", much to the amusement of everyone around him.

"Wait, what?"

"S'mores or hot cocoa?" Finn enunciates, directly to camera, completely straight-faced. "That's the REAL question here."

* * *

Reduced to a grotesque stand-in shrine in hellish surroundings, beholden to the wizards of practical effects for this shot, our lone actor kneels on the floor, form obscured by the thick stage-smoke being pumped onto the set. Everything holds steady for about five seconds.

Until Bill winces, coughs, and squints. The smoke burns his eyes, but no more than the pupilless Deadite contacts do.

"So, you wanna be an actor, son," he rasps, directly into the lens. "Let me tell you how _fun_ it is."

* * *

As our BTS cameraman roams, he finds our director humming to himself.

"Oranges and lemons, oranges and lemons..."

Andy glances over at the waiting lemon wedge, sitting innocently on a plate atop a folding table just adjescent to his director's chair.

"Oranges." He smirks, turning to glance sidelong at the camera. "Oh, we're gonna have a _time_ with that."

* * *

 _Boop._

"Last time you asked us not to look, we didn't walk right for a week!"

 _Boop._

"Last time you asked us not to look, guess what? We looked anyway! It wasn't that bad."

 _Boop._

"Last time you asked us not to look, someone wrote DUNCE across my forehead with a Sharpie. I still don't know who it was."

 _Boop._

"Last time you asked us not to look, there wasn't enough of Jeremy left to fill a thimble!"

The absurdness of Jack's latest improv attempt quickly has his castmates collapsing with laughter.

"What?!"

Chosen ruffles a still-giggling Jeremy's hair. "That's okay. We found another one!"

 _Boop._

* * *

 _Duun-dun... Duun-dun... dun-dun dun-dun dun-dun -_

A close-up of Bill's yellow-contact-englared eyes in the tall grass falls suddenly flat (insert record scratch sound effect here), as someone from the crew thinks it funny and/or helpful to play the _JAWS_ theme over a nearby speaker.

As if he needs it.

"Really? Can you _get_ any more obvious?"

* * *

Animal magnetism.

Jeremy Ray Taylor does not have it. At least, not for this costar.

"Can't we just leave him that way?" he asks a set grip, poised to lift a towel off the sleeping parrot's cage. "There's enough racket around here without him."

Bill, stooped over to let an assistant touch up his facepaint, hears this. "Hey!"


	2. Take Two

_And now, the encore._

* * *

While they think the BTS camera isn't looking, Sophia and Chosen stand in Neibolt's snow-covered front yard, staring up at the roof. Up above, four set handymen are in the process of stringing Christmas lights along the edges, tied off by safety harnesses as per studio policy. Discussing the impending shot, one young star is reasonably optimistic for their costar's sake.

The back-and-forth goes as well as anyone would expect. Turns out, Chosen isn't a fan of heights.

"It's not happening."

"You don't know that."

"I do. And I'm telling you, it's not happening."

"Quit being stubborn, Chose."

"It's not being stubborn if you know it's a bad idea."

"Your argument is invalid."

"Your face is invalid."

And so on...

* * *

Camera malfunctions are the devil. Waiting on said malfunctions to be hashed out, when you could be setting up elsewhere, is even worse. Bill and Wyatt both know there is no use in complaining, so they don't. Between takes, neither are allowed to leave the room, much less shed their costumes. So they pass the downtime time as best they can.

Both actors are kneeling, to either side of the hospital bed, leaning on their arms.

Staring at each other. It is as though, while no one was looking, they assumed holding this absurd contest.

To what end?

Who knows?

"..."

"..."

". . . . ."

". . . . ."

The staredown ensues for perhaps three minutes, as the set goes quieter and quieter around them.

That is, before a bemused Andy Muschietti clears his throat, sounding just a _little_ perturbed. "Ahem. Guys?"

Without so much as a flinch, Bill raises an eyebrow at his younger costar. "You hear something, Wyatt?"

"Nah. You?"

"Sounded like Andy... maybe, kinda, sorta."

"Saying we're ready?"

" _Du önskar._ "

"What?"

"You wish."

" _Guys_!"

Who's keeping who waiting now?

* * *

Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day.

Holding an uncomfortable pose for the sake of the shot, Jaeden stares directly into the lens. There is an impressive amount of water adorning his face. Most of which is starting to gather in his upturned eyes.

That is, until he finally splutters and backpedals out of frame.

"Seriously, stop! Ugh! God, _this_ is the real water torture."

Snickers erupt off camera.

* * *

Effects guys are really pyromaniacs in disguise.

Faced with shooting a burning-down Neibolt set, Andy wholly expects it to be a smoky, awful day.

Digital fire costs more. But, just gazing at the empty setup before anyone is situated, he swears he can already smell the smoke. The fire bars aren't even lit.

Turning to the BTS camera, he tilts his head. "...You smell something burning?"

Then a telltale crackle begins to emanate from behind a far wall, smoke puffing through seams in the wood.

The BTS cameraman chuckles. "Code Red, boss man."

* * *

"You're older than Earth and you still don't know _shit_ about it."

Before a cut can be called, Bill shoulders in one offscreen retort.

"What can you expect? There _was_ a time before feeds kept you up to date on _anything_."

* * *

"We waiting on something, Bill?"

Standing by in costume, Bill's contact-lensed eye cants just slightly toward the camera. Off in the near-distance, Andy is framing the sky as diligently as he sets up the foreground of a shot, with the help of three assistants offering their varied opinions and hopes. Is it _really_ the same shade of blue as the day before? Are they gonna have to spend more on color-correction in post?

Bill knows these kinda cinematographic questions just go with the territory.

Doesn't mean he's entirely forgiving of having to wait even _longer_ in this sweatshop-of-a-suit, as he flatly declares:

"Andy's pulling a Stanley Uris today. Riveting stuff, you should watch."

* * *

"Iron Maiden!"

"Ozzy!"

"Grateful Dead!"

"Metallica!"

"AC/DC! Oh, wait. We already did that."

Happening upon the mysterious tape switchers between setups (after enduring the seventh take with the wrong music belting out of the stereo), the BTS cameraman inadvertently discovers who is responsible.

" _Finn_!"

Jeremy and Wyatt decline to rise to their costar's defense, promptly skedaddling, leaving him alone in the lens. Wide-eyed, Finn uselessly hides the cassettes behind his back. "It wasn't me, I swear! It's a conspiracy!"

* * *

" _Guaruba gua-row_. Wait. No, that isn't it. _Gua-ruba guaroubi_. No, I just made up a new species. _Guaruba guaro-_ Don't- stop laughing!"

It's okay, Jeremy. Scientific names are a bitch.

* * *

"You've got something there."

Bill points to a space below Jack's chin.

A little punch-drunk after so many takes wrestling in the grass, the kid falls for it. He looks. "Where?"

One gloved finger gently flicks his downturned nose. "There!"

"Gah!" Jack flinches, reaching to cover his face protectively. Then, hearing his older costar's off-screen snickering: "God, if this role _doesn't_ turn you into a sadist yet..."

* * *

"Incoming!"

Just as they're fooled into believing the shot is ready, Jack and Finn scarcely manage to dodge a salvo of bucket-tossed slime, which splatters harmlessly on the wall. The stand-in 'drool' is foul, slippery and smells slightly like alcohol. But the real problem is, per an inventory screw-up, they have too much of it on hand.

So, rather than send it back...

Cut to Bill. Not as nimble in his ungainly costume, the Swede can only flinch and closes his eyes at being dealt another coating of slime to the face, as thrown by some unseen attacker.

"Not nice, Andy. Not nice at all."

Retaliation for holding the hospital scene up the other day?

If effects guys are pyromaniacs, set dressers have too much fun with their craft as well.

* * *

Barred from leaving the couch, Jaeden indulges in a rare moment of feel-sorry-for-myself.

"Nope, not scary," he deadpans, out of the blue.

"What isn't?" Bill asks, seated beside (instead of behind) Jaeden while the camera is off.

" _Poltergeist_."

"No?"

"Not after watching it twenty times, no."

"It hasn't been twenty takes."

"I meant, casually. Reacting to something you've seen before always gets repetitive."

"Yes, but twenty times?"

"On and off," Jaeden mumbles, absently twirling a bit of popcorn between his fingers. "But if the _artiste_ behind the camera is still unhappy - "

"Nope! One more."


	3. Take Three

_An encore to the encore._

* * *

Rock beats scissors.

Scissors beat paper.

Paper beats... nothing. Paper's too light to do anything else, isn't it?

Either way, how many rounds of rock-paper-scissors can one go with their longfaced costar, and somehow they're still ending up with the same draw every time?

Finn lost count somewhere after fifty.

Sophia's still smiling at him. This won't be settled until he wins at least one round, breaks this tied-game-from-hell and then phones Guinness World Records. See if he won anything on _that_ front.

Andy's weary voice calls over from somewhere behind the camera. Weary, as if he's been watching it go on for some time. "Are we ready yet, folks?"

" _Not_ until we figure this out," Finn growls, without looking up.

To which Sophia smoothly retorts, "You mean, until you figure it out."

"Oh, I'll figure _something_ out."

Their hands continue to square off.

Rock versus rock.

Paper versus paper.

Rock versus rock.

Scissors versus scissors.

Paper versus paper.

Jack's voice sounds off next, presumably from somewhere right beside Andy. "We're gonna be here forever, aren't we?"

* * *

Golden conures are not known for their trainability.

At times, neither is Jeremy.

"No, it's a bad idea. Bad idea!"

With an irritated squawk, the bird launches itself off the cage. Crossing the short gap between cage and desk, it flaps to an awkward landing on the physics book in front of Jeremy.

The cracker given to him by the animal handler hits the floor.

Without missing a blink, the parrot pounces on it. One bite reduces the cracker to crumbs, which it nibbles noisily.

" _Awk!_ "

"And you want me to stick my hand near that beak?"

"It was only an idea, Jer."

"Now we know what kind. Bad. Very, very bad."

"Okay, okay." Looking on from offstage, Andy chuckles and motions to the help. "Back in the cage, please."

* * *

"Yeah, this seems safe."

The springboard is meant to aid in the performance of a stunt like an elevated jump.

That wouldn't be so bad, if Bill could _see_ the darn thing. Camouflaged against the overgrown, dirty grass, he prods at it experimentally with one boot, listening for the creak of wound-down springs, before stepping out of frame.

"Famous last words."

Can't they just overlay an X in bright green tape that can be taken out in post?

* * *

BTS cameras get lucky sometimes.

Lucky in that they almost catch actors in the process of committing crimes.

Like dumping a styrofoam cup's worth of stage drool over Andy's head while he reclines in the director's chair, thinking that - against all odds - he isn't aware of their presence.

...You know he's the director of _IT_ , right?

Without glancing up from the script, the Argentinian blandly says:

"Don't even think about it, Bill."

The hand hovering in the top of frame stills. The cup it holds nearly blends in with the white cotton glove.

"...Too late. I already thought of it. _Acting_ on it, though..."

And with one delicate pour-

" _Bill_!"

* * *

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Eddie."

"And, cut!"

Allowed to drop character, Jack mimes wiping a tear away, even as Finn's hand remains clamped on his nose.

"You didn't mean it, right, Finnie?"

The same hand lets go to pat his cheek, sympathetically. "No, Jackie. Not at all."

Someone out of frame: "D'aww..."

* * *

"Mom counts my pills. I had a migraine, too, earlier, and had to- had to... Frigging damn! Had to ask someone for help opening this accursed thing! What gives?"

Snickers erupt off camera as Jack wrestles helplessly with the child-proof painkiller bottle. He twists and pulls at it with such ineffectual, pretend fury that he topples over onto the floor.

"Someone? Help!? Please?"

Running with the joke, Andy calls out: "Someone? Is there a Mr. Someone in the house?"

* * *

 _Boop._

"He's gonna get you back for this, you know."

"He's got the mental capacities of a snail. I don't think he can think of a good payback."

 _Boop._

"He's got the brain pan of a pigeon."

"If it's a homing pigeon, he'll be able to track you home long after this is done."

"Same dif!"

 _Boop._

"He's as dumb as a box of hammers. And bricks. Doubly stupid because those never go together."

 _Boop._

"He's had to have been dropped on his head a few million times, he's so slow about understanding some things."

 _Boop._

"He's as quick as a sloth."

"...Quick, as a- "

"It's an oxy, you moron."

"Finn! Not niCe."

 _Boop._

"He's got nothing but air behind those eyes, that's why- "

 _Boop._

"He's about as smart as I am handsome. Wait..."

 _Boop._

"He's not even third grade reading level. And you say he's gonna get me back?"

"You could do this all day, couldn't you, Finn?" Bill's offscreen voice accuses - not unamusedly, either.

"Only as long as he's getting paid," Jack ribs their costar.

"Nah, I'd think these up for free!"

"Oh, well, doEsn't that maKe me feEl like a miLlion euros?"

 _Boop._

* * *

"Jack...?"

"I ain't 'fraid'a no ghost."

Standing in the background of the shot, Bill frowns. "That's... not in the script, Jack."

The frame is set, the camera is on, but action hasn't been called.

Post 'Bedlam' struggle, Jack unwinds for the last few setups to the theme of _Ghostbusters_.

Privately. Via earbuds.

Eyes closed.

Occasionally mumbling along to the lyrics.

"I ain't 'fraid'a no clown."

Looking past Jack's shoulder, Bill looks straight into the lens, frowns, and points at the bizarre sight unfolding before him. "Does he... know you're filming right now?"

The operator answers for the audience.

The frame shakes haltingly from side-to-side: NOOO.

* * *

Anyone not knowing better would think, by the setup frame of this closeup shot, that Sophia and Bill were starring in the weirdest torture-interrogation scene of all time.

The idea?

Shove a short iron pipe sideways into your costar's mouth.

And try not to knock their teeth (fake fanged dentures or no) out at the same time.

...Can do!

Still, both try to bring some levity to the moment, at least in a brief rehersal.

"You expect me to talk?"

"No, Mr. Clown, I expect you to- "

"Urmph!"

Still holding one end of the pipe, Sophia's expression drops in concern. "...That didn't hurt, did it?"

Bill tries to smile with the pipe jammed into his teeth, but the slight glistening of his eyes says it may not be as painless as he's struggling to make it sound like: "...N-no, n-not at all."

"...Medic?"

* * *

"This isn't gonna be the boombox tapes prank all over again, is it?" Jaeden laments, watching the set grips hopelessly file through a box of unmarked VHS tapes.

Unmarked - only because some inconsiderate dipstick thought it'd be funny to take a black Sharpie and wreak havoc upon all the labels.

Good luck finding _Poltergeist_.

* * *

"Scrabble, Twister, Battleship, Pictionary, Risk, Connect Four, Monopoly, Sorry!"

Bill blinks. He had kept his hands to himself the whole time.

And so had Jackson (tasked with naming as many board game possibilities as he could remember off the top of his head to one of the prop providers; which would be best for the upcoming scene?).

Never mind how many he seems to know.

What's the kid apologizing for?

" _Ursäkta mig_?"

"No, that's the name of another game: Sorry!"

"Pass. It doesn't sound like much fun if it's named after the act of apology."

* * *

"Miss."

. . .

"Miss."

. . .

"Miss."

. . .

" _Du missade, igen_."

. . .

"Sort of- Oh, no. Another miss."

"Y'know, your newfound need to scorekeep isn't helping, Bill!"

"So far there's been no score to keep. Who would think a stick makes a decent golf club, anyway?"

"Our smartass writers, for one," Jack flatly declares, glancing somewhere to the left of the screen. Presumably at a pair of unseen figures lurking on the location's peripheral. "Or two, that is."

"Yeah, _damtoalett_. What's up with that? Purely accidental, or do you just like seeing us struggle?"

"Pft. I'm starting to really believe it's the latter."

"Now, now, leave the writers alone," Andy patiently commands from the opposite side of frame. "They're working with us for free after all."


	4. Take Four

_This is just for posterity now, isn't it?_

* * *

 _What have I started?_

"Are we done yet?"

"We're done when I say we're done."

"...Are we done yet?"

" _What_ about the first answer was unclear?"

"The part where you said 'I say'. You're not our director."

Drool-prank wars, cassette and VHS tape wars, never-ending rock-paper-scissors wars.

The staring contest has caught on now? Seriously?

Bill frowns, glancing back and forth between Jack and Finn, poised as they are over the Scrabble board, with him caught in the middle. Then he glances back past the lens, affecting his in-character voice.

"Andy! PleaSe saY we're doNe. Are wE?"

"I am if they are."

"We aren't," Jack and Finn chime in unision.

Bill's expression crumbles and he facepalms.

 _Serves me right for putting stage-drool in the man's coffee._

* * *

"And here we have the reclusive Ray Taylor in the act of reviewing his dialogue. You'll note the little crease of his mouth, the twitching of the eyes, which would indicate to us he thinks this upcoming scene is complete and total phony-baloney."

Or so goes the BTS guy's parodic imitation of natural history documentary narration.

Complete with an obnoxious close up on Jeremy hunched over a desk.

Until he looks up.

"David Attenborough! What are you doing on this set?"

* * *

Collectively, the cast of nine stares up at the Easter basket full of smartphones, a collection as colorful as any set of fake eggs. It hangs suspended from the end of a boom mike arm, half a story above anyone's head (including their lead).

The camera zooms out.

Then, as one, they glare over at Andy, standing firm, arms crossed, and alone in the lefthand side of frame.

"And no one gets theirs back until we find out _who_ thought it was funny to dip my copy of the script in that slime bucket!"

Kudos to him for being so bold in his disciplinary approach. They do outnumber him after all.

* * *

Sometimes, you have to just sleep whenever and wherever you could.

And hope your costar for the scene is decent enough to wake you up before 'action' is called.

Bill, affixed to the iron girder practical effects, has nowhere to go. Chin to chest, he rests his eyes for a moment.

Kneeling next to him, Stuart glances back at the camera, and cracks a smug smile not unlike what Butch Bowers is meant to sport in that scripted moment.

Insert snoring sound effect here.

"Your lead in all his glory, Muschietti."

* * *

A timelapse shot of the library study room shows the scene's lead, seated at the table, _Vedic Mathematics_ in hand. The top of the opened book keeps his face hidden. All around him, the various set dressers, camera assistants, grips, makeup artists, and audio guys bustle about, readying the closed-in set for filming.

Most actors would stand back and watch the madness unfold from afar, rather than in the middle of it.

It takes perhaps ten minutes.

At the end, as the set is cleared, our actor glances up past the edge of the book, expression smug.

Dedication. Thy name is Finn Wolfhard.

* * *

"Oh, great. Executives."

Visits from the studio are often as unthrilling as they are unexpected. Particularly when they catch you mid-prank. Like being found out by a stern teacher, that would be the end of fun as the cast of PatLC knows it.

Wyatt glances back at Jeremy, who holds two styrofoam cups in hand.

"Quick! Put those somewhere they won't see them."

* * *

Weirdly enough, the golden conure takes a shine to somebody besides its handlers.

"No, I don't think that works, either," Andy comments to the parrot on his shoulder, reclining in his chair, storyboard in hand. The bird shoots a glance at the BTS camera, before giving an offended-sounding "awk!"

Too bad he's behind the camera instead of in front of it most days.

* * *

Empty styrofoam cups littering the set is a pretty common sight on many films. Most of the time, the contents are tea, water, or coffee.

Not slime.

Experimentally, Jack runs his finger along the inside of a discarded clue, then inspects the sticky substance between his thumb and index finger.

"Y'know, we filmed that scene two _weeks_ ago. How _do_ these things keep turning up?"

How indeed...

* * *

" _Don't_ go there."

Oh, Finn went there.

And he took pictures.

That is, he _so_ would have liked to.

"Quit harrassing the BTS crew."

Said part of BTS crew manages to capture a not-so-discreet argument between Sophia and Finn, standing just out of microphone range on the opposite side of a Neibolt doorway.

Finn all but stomps his foot in frustration. "It isn't fair, though! They still have their cameras, and we don't. The blackmail opportunities that are slipping away- "

"Will come back around. Jaeden has a plan. Until then, pipe down."

* * *

There's a full-size payphone booth prop in the background.

With an outside line.

Jaeden can't just overlook it.

"Yes, supreme. Five of them. Anchovies, pepperonis, and olives, pineapple slices. Extra, extra cheese. How much? For real? No, it's okay. Our film crew digs this combination, trust me."

Ew.

For consumption or for conflagration?

* * *

With one finger, Jaeden wipes a stray pepperoni slice from his cheek. "Y'know, if you hadn't taken away our phones, I wouldn't have had to get so drastic."

Ordering the pizzas had been funny at first. The appalled look on Andy's face upon opening the first box - priceless. Lord knew no one would be eating any of this.

Until Jack thought it was funny to grab a handful of the topping-laden cheese and sauce to fling across the table.

Then, as it progressed to an all-out horrid food fight between cast and crew, it had gone from funny to overly serious.

"And you think this will make me give them back any faster?" Andy retorts, cleaning his face with the tail of his shirt. "You need to rethink your strategy, young man."

"Yeah? You still have those boom lock keys on your belt loop, fearless leader?"

Le gasp! A distraction!

Somewhere in the background, Jeremy calls encouragement to their departing castmate. "Run, Sophia!"


End file.
